


Make Your Own Fun

by stoprobbers



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:57:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoprobbers/pseuds/stoprobbers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a long time ago - last summer, or maybe spring, i can't quite remember - paige and i discovered a mutual appreciation of a certain recreatinal substance that has recently become legal in colorado and washington state. one day, during a serious conversation about fanfiction (like you do) we discovered a deficiency. "why does no one write stoner fic?" we asked ourselves. "that's ridiculous!" and so we resolved to write some. we made a pact, in fact, that we would. and, rather delightfully, we independently decided to take totally different approaches to it. </p><p>well, paige, darling: this is my half of the pact. it is for your birthday, because you are lovely and wonderful, a hilarious and Good friend, a pleasure to talk to, and an inspiration as a writer. you are delightful and i hope this fic delights you as much as it delighted me to write it. happy fucking birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Your Own Fun

There were lots of things you couldn’t possibly know, Rose Tyler thought, about traveling through time and space, at least before you did so. You couldn’t possibly know that dogs in Erlax 7 were neon pink and had no fur but weird fish scale-type things instead, or that when humans spread out through the galaxy in order to survive parrots somehow grew as big as a person and learned how to talk, properly talk and not just imitate. You couldn’t possibly know that there is a planet called Bartrax and that it is locked in a centuries-long marketing conflict thanks to the Dolmansaxlil Galactic Shoe Corporation, or that the planet Kria is home to the second worst poetry in the entire universe and that the Doctor, of course, can recite that poetry by heart including “An Ode to a Small Lump of Putty I Found in my Armpit One Midsummer Morning,” a poem so bad it caused four Krians who heard it to die of internal hemorrhaging. (The Doctor, of course, is immune but Rose is not, as they found out two lines in when her vision started to go blurry and her stomach started to cramp and he had to take her to Barcelona for ice cream and shopping to make up for almost killing her.)

But of all the things you couldn’t possibly know, Rose Tyler thought, perhaps the most unexpected was how  _bored_  you got.

Right now, the Doctor was buried somewhere beneath the console, stripping and reattaching wires after their latest adventure to a hostile planet. Perhaps, she mused, she should add “most planets are hostile planets” to her list of unexpected knowledge gleaned from being a time traveler but, she supposed, if you thought about it long enough it made sense. After all, Earth was distinctly hostile to aliens and most humans had no idea they were even real. Why should she expect something different of aliens themselves? Most of the time the Doctor and her were the aliens, of course they’d be subjected to xenophobia. Especially with the Doctor’s enthusiasm and complete obliviousness to social customs, even as he was lecturing her about them.

And so he was stripping and reattaching wires, and she was lounging in her bed, contemplating the shifting star map on the ceiling, trying to come up with something to do. There was a vast library, sure, but she was too lazy to read, to hold up a book right now. There was an equally vast library of movies but she wasn’t in the mood for that either. The television had 5,000 channels, satellite service across the universe, but that didn’t appeal. She sighed, huffed, rolled over onto her stomach to contemplate her bedspread, then flipped back on her back to take in the ceiling again.

“I’m bored,” she said aloud. She thought she might’ve heard the steady hum of the TARDIS change, lower in sympathy, but it was probably her imagination. She frowned, and spoke again.

“I’m  boooooooored!”

She was on the verge of saying it again, just for good measure (if the Doctor wasn’t going to make himself available to listen to her whine, she may as well announce it to the universe at large and see if anyone picked it up through the TARDIS walls), when inspiration struck. She flipped over on her stomach again and scooted over to the edge of her bed, digging around in the small pile of trinkets, magazines, and varied detritus at the foot of her nightstand until she came up with the small plastic container. She’d gotten it at one of the Doctor’s preferred bazaars while he’d been off haggling over machinery for the TARDIS. The vendor had told her it would keep any item fresh for a period of time she’d been unable to pronounce but the Doctor explained corresponded roughly to an Earth decade.

Months later, when they’d stopped over in Esflovian for sightseeing, Rose had found a way to put it to use. Esflovian was a planet populated by descendants of what they called an ancient (but which were really from Rose’s future) human personal-growth-oriented hippy peace commune. When they’d struck out into the stars they’d brought with them ideals of love and harmony, an astonishingly complete copy of the catalogs of The Grateful Dead, Crosby Stills & Nash, and Jefferson Airplane, and quite a large crop of marijuana plants. Turned out Esflovian had the perfect climate for that plant.

Pulling it out of its pile now, she shook it, watching the three slim white paper cylinders inside roll around. They looked just as they had when she’d put them in there after that jaunty afternoon, no apparent drying or yellowing of the paper even though it had been, by her (admittedly rough) calculations, nearly six months since they’d been. Popping open the lid, she pulled one out and raised it to her nose, sniffing. The scent was as pungent as ever, something that could almost be mistaken for sage if you didn’t know the difference.

She grinned. Afternoon solved.

It took a bit more rummaging, in drawers this time, but she managed to find a book of matches she’d saved because of the holographic advertisement on them, and a porcelain dish that could serve as an ashtray in a pinch. She had settled herself in and was just about to strike a match when her door popped open. She paused, match hovering above matchbook, joint hanging from her lips, and looked up as the Doctor’s head popped through the doorway.

“Well, that’s that solved, at least for the moment anyway.  Nothing to it, really, just rerouting the circuit from the temporal distortion translator to the–“ He cut himself off abruptly, and frowned. “What are you doing?”

“I got bored,” she said, or tried to say but around the joint it sounded closer to ‘ingotored.’ She put the matches down, removed the obstructing object and tried again, “I got bored.”

“Bored?!” His eyebrows shot up his forehead as if to hide under his fringe, and his face contorted into an expression of near-fatal offense as he stepped fully into her room. “On  _my_  TARDIS? With her nearly-infinite rooms, the library, the theater, the museum, not to mention the pool and the roller-coaster room! Rose Tyler, no one gets  _bored_  on my TARDIS!”

He paused, his brows dropping, furrowing, and before she could do much else than open her mouth he spoke again.

“What’s that you’ve got there?”

She glanced down at the slim white object held neatly between her index and middle fingers and wondered exactly how to answer that. On the one hand, she had no reason to lie or hide — the Doctor had been with her when she bought this, had actually steered her towards a strain he said was optimum for a human from her time, guaranteed to make her giddy and high, the make colors vivid and scents sharp and tastes delightful without any heaviness, paranoia, or unwanted sleepiness. On the other hand, she felt a lot like she’d just been caught doing something wrong by her mum. She frowned and shook off that last feeling; the Doctor was  _not_  her mum.

“What’s it look like?” she said, instead.

“Is that from Esflovia?” he took a few steps forward and she noticed, really noticed, for the first time since he’d popped in that he wasn’t wearing his coat or even his suit jacket, just one of his button down shirts with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tie askew. His hands, though recently washed, were stained with a bit of grease here and there from his repair work, and there was a streak on his right temple where he must’ve run a dirty hand through his hair. She peered at his hair, perhaps a bit more wild than usual, but couldn’t see any grease in the brown locks. She wished, for probably the millionth time, that she were in a position to take the liberty of a hands-on inspection.

Before she could answer he'd crossed the scant space between doorway and bed and was perched beside her on the mattress, deftly snatching the joint from between her fingers and holding it up for inspection. He brought it closer to his face and his eyes crossed. She tried not to laugh.

"It is! I wondered what happened to these. Oh, you must be keeping them in the container from–"

"Um, Doctor," she interrupted, "Could I have that back?"

She reached for it, wiggling her fingers, and he allowed her to pluck it from between his thumb and forefinger with minimal fuss.

"What are you doing with it?" he asked. She looked at him like he was daft, which he clearly was.

"I'm going to smoke it," she answered slowly, peering at him curiously to gauge his reaction. For the moment, at least, the genially curious expression didn't waver. "I told you, I got bored."

"So you thought you'd get high?"

"Well," she shrugged, "sometimes I have to make my own fun."

The words hung in the air between them for a moment, feeling heavy in a way Rose wasn't sure she could define or perhaps even understand; this was not, after all, a particularly weighty moment. Decision to get high this afternoon aside, this was essentially any ordinary "Sunday" on the TARDIS. Whatever was hanging between them, though, dispersed when the Doctor sniffed indignantly.

"Piffle," he scooped up the matches and passed them over to her, "There is plenty of fun to be had on my TARDIS, even if you refuse to admit it."

She rolled her eyes and accepted the matches. "I didn't say there was  _no_  fun, I just said I was bored! You know, even with nearly infinite options sometimes us little apes can't think of what to do, or nothing seems appealing. It's nature's way of saying  _lay around all afternoon_ , or something."

"Please. Nature doesn't speak any language you could understand, not even with the TARDIS translating. Took me years to learn it and I still only catch about half of it. Do you want company?"

She blinked at him, brain slightly behind his words and she wondered fleetingly if Esflovian pot could literally give you a contact high, then the full impact of his offhand words hit. A slow grin spread across her face as she imagined the Doctor, stoned and relaxed and rumpled. Oh yes, she wanted company.

"Sure." She popped the joint back into her mouth, struck the match, and touched it lightly to the tip. It flamed up for a second as she inhaled the herbal smoke, smooth and not too acrid and distinctly nuttier in flavor than anything from her time. She liked it. She winked at him as she passed the joint his way, and their eyes locked as he lifted it to his mouth. She almost couldn't break his stare but her eyes dipped to his mouth as he took his first hit, the pucker of his lips and the slightly hollowing of his cheeks. His freckles seemed more distinct than normal, his lips redder and fuller, and she realized this was good pot,  _really_  good pot and she was likely in for one hell of an afternoon.

The Doctor paused then exhaled blue-gray smoke in a thin stream. He ended it with one single perfect smoke ring. With an eyebrow raised he proffered it across the small space between them. She smiled a little wider and accepted.

 

***

Rose Tyler felt like she was floating. The walls of her room seemed to ripple slightly with the movement of the air, but not in a way that made her afraid, more like they too were subject to the same fizzy lightness that had seemed to take over her head. She and the Doctor were sprawled on her bed, lounging on a mountain of pillows he'd built behind them. They'd opened the cabinet across from the foot of her bed to expose the television instead of bothering to move into the media room. One horrible and fantastic television movie later, the Doctor was flipping through the channels, trying to the next thing watch. She paused her in examination of the wavy walls to flick over to the screen as she caught a flash of a familiar face.

"Oh wait wait," she managed, turning towards the Doctor and overestimating, knocking herself into him instead. Her elbow gave and her chin knocked unpleasantly against his shoulder. "Ow."

Amused brown eyes looked down at her but his finger paused on the remote. "You all right?"

"You shhh," she adjusted herself, flopping onto her back and staying close, letting their arms and ankles knock together. The Doctor had kicked off his trainers shortly after it became clear they weren't moving any time soon and his socked feet looked odd, out of place and unexpected. She didn't know if she'd ever seen his feet out of trainers before. No, she must've. All this time she must've seen him unshod before.

 

"Rooose," his voice snapped her out of her thoughts, "TARDIS calling. Ah, there you are."

"Sorry," she shook her head lightly as if to shake off the thoughts and refocused on the television. "Look, it's The IT Crowd, I like this show. Stop here, please!"

He chuckled and reached for the last of the joint, resting on the plate between them. "What's it about then?"

"What, you don't remember?" She grinned at him, watching him touch the match to the remaining nub and raise it to his lips. "Last time we popped 'round Mum's, we were watchin' this after tea. It's good, it's funny!"

"I don't remember," he admitted, and dropped the now-smoldering bit of paper and resin that was left in his fingers back on the plate. "How odd, I usually remember these afternoons with your mother in such excruciating detail. I  _live_  them in excruciating detail."

"Y'know when you say things like that you make yourself sound human. You sound like Mickey, you do. "

"Perish the thought," he frowned. "I am from the planet Gallifrey, in the constellation of Kasterborous, and I am the last of the Time Lords and the Oncoming Storm–"

"Yeah, yeah, we've heard it before, leave off," she giggled. He smiled back at her.

"Which is to say I am  _nothing_  like a human."

"You have freckles," she touched his cheek and imagined she felt him lift into her touch. "And scars, and a mole."

"And just what does that prove?"

"Well, you look human."

"You look Time Lord," he shot back.

"You get high like a human," she pointed out, then pointed at him, her finger weaving a bit an inch or so from the tip of his nose. She frowned, considering. "Do you get high like a human?"

"I dunno," he mused and scratched his jaw absently. She found herself mesmerized by the motion. "What's it like, being high like a human?"

"Well," she considered, "It's different each time."

"That goes without saying," he agreed, nodding seriously and almost sending her into a fit of giggles.

"I dunno, I feel all fun and floaty and fizzy and fancy and… other things that start with an f." She grinned at him, her tongue poking through her teeth. _Feisty_ , she thought.  _Flirty_.

"Ah, so they're an alphabetical kind of a thing, emotional alliteration."

"I s'pose," she shrugged. "This time, at least. This is good stuff. How do you feel?"

"Well, f words do sound rather nice," he offered. "Floaty, quite. Fizzy, perhaps. Certainly funny, but funny's quite objective isn't it? I am saying I’m witty, or that I'm weird, or perhaps whimsical. Ooh, now we're on w's!"

"Wily," she offered with a sly grin, "Wicked and wonderful."

He froze, mouth slightly agape as if he had his reply ready and she'd just whisked it away. She stared, too, unsure of where that exactly had come from. She'd meant to say that part in her head. Apparently "flirty" was taking control. She resisted the wary feeling rising in her, watching his next move carefully.

"Really?" he said, a slow grin spreading on his face, genuine. "Wonderful, me?"

"Oh like you need me to tell you," she looked away, feeling her cheeks burn. She tried to focus on the telly but she could feel his smile boring into her until she slid her eyes back to him.

"You're wonderful, too," he replied when their gazes met again. She studied him, wondering if she should push it. She hadn't just said wonderful, after all.

"And wicked?"

He simply raised his eyebrow but didn't reply. She didn't look away, couldn't look away even though the weight of his expression made her burn. Her body had been tingling for a while now, humming with the Esflovian pot and the Doctor's proximity, and she wanted to believe that he felt the same way, that what she felt practically emanating from his person was real, but she couldn't keep staring at him straight on anymore. His eyes, darker than normal, bored into her and it was far too much. She slid her gaze over onto his cheek instead. Once again something crackling between them seemed to ease and she looked away fully, tracing the slim lines of his torso and legs, back down to his sock-clad feet.

"You keep staring at my feet," he murmured, his voice soft but startlingly close to her ear. He wiggled his toes at her, as if in greeting. She tucked her chin down a bit and felt the tip of his nose brush against the shell of her ear. "Is there something wrong with them?"

"I don’t think I've seen them," she admitted, after a silence. "Not without trainers at least."

"No," he sounded confused but she kept staring at his socks. There was a small hole forming at the tip of his right big toe. "That can't be, can it?"

"I think so. I tried to remember, but I can't."

"I've seen your feet. You paint your toenails on the console."

"Yes."

"Even though I ask you not to."

"Yes," she looked up with a smile at that and found his face very, very close to hers, "because you're a pushover."

"I am not, I'm the–"

"Oh my god, stop," she rolled her eyes and was about to say more when his mouth covered hers.

For a moment everything stopped. She would have sworn, if you asked, that she was floating outside her body. All Rose could feel was his lips, dry and cool and firm, pressed not-quite-right against hers because her mouth was open, was ready to speak and now he was kissing her and  _oh my god he was kissing her_. At once she was back in her body, eyes fluttering shut and lips pressing back and the kiss turned real, turned dynamic and alive. His mouth slid over hers, his tongue coming out to just barely brush her bottom lip. She parted her lips a little more to encourage him and he began to roll on his side towards her, trapping her arm awkwardly between them but pressing ever closer and she was willing to have one arm trapped if it meant she could feel more of him against her. She leaned back, letting him drape himself as much as he could and brought her free hand up to his cheek. As she slid it up into his hair her thumb slid over the streak of grease and her index finger found its mate in his hair. She would have thought something about that but at just that moment his tongue dipped into her mouth and her brain promptly checked out.

Everything was sensation. The intoxicant in her blood brought out every kind of sensory input; she was awash in his scent, drowning in his flavor, her skin tingled when it was just in proximity to his and positively burned where they touched. She could feel the heat of him through his shirts and his trousers, thought she could feel something else against her hip, and wondered what she felt like to him, so much warmer by nature. He groaned softly when she touched the tip of her tongue to his and then pulled back to suck on his bottom lip, and hauled her a little closer before suddenly releasing her.

They stared at each other, wide eyed and panting, Rose's hand still tangled in the Doctor's hair. Rose swore she could feel his body vibrating and thought perhaps he could as well; she was shaking.

"S-sorry," the Doctor stammered after a moment but he didn't move away. "I- I mean, not sorry, not exactly, I've actually been thinking about that for a while but I just sort of–I mean, you were about to say something and I interrupted you and that's- well, that's rude–"

"It's okay." She cut him off before he could babble properly. "I didn't- I don't, um, mind."

"No?" His eyes grew a touch wider. It made her feel bold.

"I actually was rather enjoying it. If," her eyes flicked down to his lips, "y'know, you want to do it again?"

"Oh, brilliant," he breathed and swooped in to kiss her again. She responded enthusiastically, shutting her eyes tigt and clutching him close, managing to wiggle her arm out from between them and up to his shoulder. Waves of heat swept up and down her body; her hips arched without thought and that was  _definitely_  the Doctor she was feeling against her hip.

"Oh you're so warm," he murmured, breaking away from her lips to trail kisses down to her neck and then settle in there. Her eyes flew open when he latched on to a brilliant tiny patch of skin she never even knew existed. The ceiling was swirling with a pattern of stars, her most recent choice of mural, and she couldn't help but giggle.

"What?" the Doctor asked, not lifting his head from the crook of her neck. She dug her fingers a little tighter into his hair to keep him there.

"Stars," she giggled. "I'm seeing stars."

He pulled away, looked up, and let out a short laugh.

"Oh that's nothing, Rose Tyler," he purred, pushing her fully onto her back. She shifted, spreading her legs to accommodate him as he climbed over her. She grinned up at him, pleased by his ruffled hair and rumpled shirt. She slid her hands to his shoulders, then down to the first few buttons on his shirt. She popped open one, ran her finger around the other.

"Are you saying you're gonna make me see stars?"

He grinned wickedly. "Thought you didn't want to go anywhere today."

"Oh no, no, do take me away, Doctor."

"Allons-y," he muttered and swooped down to kiss her again. This time her legs, freed by their new position, slid up his to hook over his hips and while her left hand gripped his shoulder her right kept working on his buttons. Soon the front of his shirt hung open and she yanked at his shirttails, getting it half untucked. He shifted down onto one elbow and slid his hand up under her t-shirt. She shivered and bucked her hips up into his.

He moved back to her neck but with more intent this time, sucking and nipping and scraping his teeth across her collarbone. Her t-shirt was loose but not loose enough and she wriggled, trying to get it to ride up or pull down, something, anything to give him a little more access to a little more skin. Their hips rose and fell together, a dance encumbered by her sweatpants and his trousers, shifting fabric reminding her that they weren't close enough yet. Giving up on getting her own shirt to move she resumed her previous task, finally sliding her own hand up beneath his vest and onto skin. Smooth, warm skin. It felt like a shock against her palm, like she'd touched a nine-volt battery. He shivered.

"Off," she panted, pushing at his shirts and bunching them up under his armpit. He pushed himself up with a heavy sigh and ripped the Oxford off, tossing it aside and pulling his vest off in one smooth motion as well. Rose did the same, sitting up halfway and pulling her t-shirt off. He stared.

"Oh," he panted. " _Oh._ "

She grinned and reached behind her, popping the clasp of her bra and shrugging that off as well. His eyes widened further.

"Oh," he blinked, then pouted. "I wanted to do that."

"Sorry?" she offered, but it ended on a squeak as he dipped his head and took a nipple into his mouth. She arched, surprised, and bashed her sternum against his nose.

"Ow," he mumbled, not relinquishing her flesh and instead reaching up to cup her other breast in his hand. He kneaded softly as he suckled at her and all she could do was pant and hold his head in place.

"Oh," she whimpered, "Oh, please…"

"What," he asked thickly, letting her pebbled nipple go and switching breasts. "What do you want?"

"You," she panted, unable to hold herself up and melting back against that wonderful mound of pillows. He came with her, rolling her nipple between two fingers.

"Please," she added as an afterthought. He laughed and kissed his way down her stomach until his mouth met her waistband. His hands joined his mouth, fingers curling around the elastic and tugging it down her hips a touch. He looked up at her, seeking permission, and she nodded enthusiastically.

He had to pull away from her to pull her sweatpants down, sliding them and himself down her legs until he was kneeling between her feet. She kicked a little bit to help him pull them off and watched them sail over his shoulder. The front of his trousers were tented and she wanted to touch, almost sat up to do so but then his nose was running up the inside of her leg and all her muscles turned to jelly.

His tongue darted out here and there, licking and tasting as he nosed his way up to her inner thigh where he paused, inhaling deeply.

"Oh Rose," he said against her skin and she closed her eyes, letting the sound of his voice wash through her just as his breath sent shivers across her skin. "You smell…"

He didn't finish his sentence, just tilted his head up and licked her fully, over her knickers. She whined and shifted her hips restlessly, wanting the silly fabric out of the way. His grabbed the sides of them and whipped them down to her knees before leaning in for another taste, his tongue wet and hotter than his skin had been. She couldn't help it; she bucked hard.

"Doctor," she moaned when his tongue disappeared after the one touch. Her eyes had slammed shut, she realized, and opened them to see him kneeling at the foot of her bed, unclasping his trousers with shaking hands. He stood and quickly pushed them and his pants to the floor around his feet. He bent to remove his socks and when he stood again she was frowning. He froze.

"I wanted to do that," she pouted at him and he laughed, a breathless sound, before sliding back onto his stomach between her legs. She lifted her knees out of instinct and shut her eyes lightly again when she felt the flat of his tongue against her. He explored for a moment, long strokes up and down and around, his finger coming up to dip into her just barely, then circle her clit with the lightest of touches. She tried to keep her hips still but he laid his other hand on her stomach and pressed down nonetheless. His tongue circled in tighter, swirling around her clit and he slid his finger into her fully, pumping slowly. She keened.

"Oh Rose," he said against her, voice creating tiny little vibrations that sent shocks to the tip of her toes. She slid one leg up and over his shoulder, relishing the feel of his smooth skin against her calf then unable to think at all as every motion of his hand and mouth brought her closer and closer to release. Deep in her something a coil pulled incredibly tight then started to give.

He abruptly pulled away, knocking her leg off.

She cried out, clenching around nothing and feeling the edge slip away from her. Her eyes flew open, her gaze accusing, only to find him hovering over her again, mouth shining. He absently wiped the moisture away with the back of his hand before leaning into kiss her again and he tasted of her enough to make her head spin. She could feel him, hard and warm against her thigh, and abruptly remembered that she, too, had hands and could use them. She slid her palms up his arms and down his chest, dragging her nail through the patch of hair there and then following the surprisingly defined contours of his abdomen to the thicket of coarse hair and the hard, warm flesh there. She cupped him, stroking lightly as their tongues tangled together, and felt a shudder run through him like an earthquake.

"I hadn't," he panted between kisses, "exactly planned–but you never follow–my plans anyway–"

"I'm sorry, are you talking?" she managed, dazed and bewildered and so turned on she couldn't see straight, not that her eyes were open anyway.

"I need–Rose can I–"

"Oh yes," she grasped him more firmly, moved him down to where she needed him, where she was slick and hot, "Yes, please,  _please_ –"

He kissed her hard, no tongue just the firm press of mouth to mouth, and shifted his hips, sliding into her. She hung onto his neck as they came together slowly, and she felt the low burn as he stretched her. It had been a long time, since she started traveling with him, and he seemed to be able to feel it because he moved slow. She was relieved not to have to ask.

When he was sheathed to the hilt he paused, letting her get used to him and perhaps him get used to her, and broke their kiss. For a moment they just looked at each other, struggling to catch their breath. The moment seemed to stretch, almost stop. Then his face cracked into a wide grin and she felt herself smiling back, a giddy kind of joy bubbling through her from where they were joined until it reached the tips of her fingers and toes. And, as though he saw something in her eyes, he began to move.

Time stopped and moved in double time, all at once. All those f-words from earlier came crashing back: floaty and fizzy and fantastic, absolutely fantastic. He felt like he was made for her, hitting spots inside her that had been neglected since long before he'd ever crossed her path. She couldn’t seem to keep quiet, exaltations and curse words flying freely from her lips whenever they weren't covered by his, and to her delight he echoed her in kind. He grunted  _yes_ and  _fuck_  and  _please_  and  _more_  and  _Rose_ , always her name, over and over again. The coil that had begun to loosen coiled tight again and she lifted her hips into his, reaching for her own pleasure and for his, wanting to feel him and hear him when he broke. She became aware she was begging, pleading  _come, Doctor, please come, I want to feel you_. And he was answering as sweat dampened the hair at the nape of his neck, moaning  _yes, Rose, yes, always, yes_.

The coil snapped. Lights and stars exploded behind her eyelids and through her blood, and left her dazzled.

When she came back to herself the Doctor was draped over her, panting like he'd run a marathon, skin damp. She blinked a couple times and then let her eyes drift closed, inhaling his scent as she ran her nails lightly across his shoulders. After a few long, relaxed moments he roused himself and carefully shifted off her.

"Rose," he said and his voice was hoarse in the most delightful way, gravelly and much lower than normal. She turned her head to face him, watching him through her eyelashes and wondering if he might be willing to just go on kissing for a while instead of talking about what they'd just done. Not that she had a single regret, she just much preferred kissing to talking. Especially  _that_  kind of talking.

"I've got to–" she said instead and quickly shifted off the bed before there could be a wet spot, dashing into the toilet. She cleaned herself up quickly, avoiding the mirror, avoiding looking at anything but her flushed skin and shaking hands and oh my god, there was a lovebite on the inside of her right thigh. Before she could think about anything too hard, she returned to her room.

The Doctor had shaken out the duvet which had become hopelessly tangled beneath them and was under it, propped up on the pillows once again and naked from the waist up at least. She wondered if she should put on knickers, sort of wanted to, but she didn't know if he had pants and she didn't want to scare him off by putting hers on if he hadn't. Before she could overthink it much further she slipped under the covers as well.

"So-" she started to say but he cut her off again, in a way she could get used to, pressing his lips to hers. Tension melted out of her and she relaxed against him, sliding her leg up and over his hips and no he hadn't put on pants, wonderful.

"Did you see stars?" He asked after a long bout of wet kisses, leaving her almost dazed enough to miss his tone and admit the truth. Instead she shook her head slightly at him, not hiding her wide grin.

"I'll never tell."

"Never? You wound me, Rose Tyler."

"I'll make it up to you."

"Mmm," he agreed, tugging her close. "Not bored anymore, are you?"

She laughed at that, snuggling into his chest and closing her eyes.

"I told you," she said against his skin, "We make our own fun."


End file.
